


Phantom limbs

by gotta_write_them_all (locky)



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Bottom Captain Flint, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, James won't let himself have nice things because GUILT, M/M, Mentions of impotence, Porn with Feelings, but life on that damn island still sucks, miranda tries her best ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 04:36:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17073590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/locky/pseuds/gotta_write_them_all
Summary: "He won't ask, she knows.So she takes pity on him and reaches over to the bedside table for the small brown jar she keeps in the bottom drawer. She spills the oil into her palm and coats her fingers in it, a ritual she has come to know well."Miranda struggles with her life on the island.James struggles with his guilt.





	Phantom limbs

Pleasure washes over her like the sea come ashore to finally claim the land. The high pitched ringing in her ears sounds like a song of sirens, luring her away. For a moment she loses balance and crushes next to James.

 _Dear God_ , she thinks.

She’s always craving this, the feeling of not being confined to the borders of her body and this island. It has been a long time and she has missed the feeling terribly, tucked away in a village under a false name, living a false life.

 

As the ringing in her ears subsides, the sound of heavy breaths fills the bedroom. It takes her a moment to notice it’s not just her who’s out of breath. James is breathing heavily next to her. Her eyes catch his movement -  right hand planted between his legs, frantically tugging at his own flesh. He’s flushed, face scrunched and she thinks he is going to spill.

Instead, he lets out an angry grunt as he lets his abused cock drop against his stomach. He avoids looking at her and looks at the wooden ceiling instead.

 

It's not unusual for James not to come. It used to happen more than often when they were new to this life. A man and a wife in the eye of the village, sinners in the eye of the church and broken in their own. James body only reflected what they felt on the inside.

 

It is something that happens still. But not in the way it used to. It’s not an inevitability any longer, it has become a choice. She does offer, she'd gladly reciprocate but most times James prefers she wouldn’t.

She knows it's guilt. She used to feel it too. But a decade later, deprived of everything else, a lifetime away from all kinds of pleasures that used to fill her day, she can't deny herself this last thing as well, can’t hunger herself for this too when she is already hungry for so many more.

 

James must understand this. He might deny himself the pleasure of release but he never denies it to her. Or maybe it’s just another way to remain faithful to Thomas, maybe, in this too, he’s keeping his promise to him. 

Miranda doesn’t think she cares to question James’ motives at this point. They exchange words of importance more and more rarely and their intimacy has become a phantom limb -  a constant pain to remind them that a part is missing.

James usually kisses her sweaty forehead as soon as she drops next to him loose-limbed from the orgasm. He turns to face the wall, preferring to go soft and fall asleep.

 

Seeing James like this now, flushed and frustrated seeking release is unusual.

 

He won't ask of course.  
Even in London when they were happy, all limbs intact, her pleasure came before his. He was always hesitant to ask for his own. At least when he was with her. She never got to ask Thomas what he was like with him. If he was just as willing? Or maybe more so? She wishes she knew. She wishes they have had more time.

 

He won't ask now either, she knows.

So she takes pity on him and reaches over to the bedside table for the small brown jar she keeps in the bottom drawer. She spills the oil into her palm and coats her fingers in it, a ritual she has come to know well. James is absent most times and she is still a woman of passion even if locked away from everyone and everything. Especially when locked away from everyone and everything. Life here is so very different from London. She has learnt to adapt, to get by by herself. Oil helps her relax and get started until her body catches up to the idea that this too, like so many things in her life, has become a solitary activity.

 

She kneels next to James and takes his cock into her oiled hand. He's still wet from her.

James, visibly mentally miles away at that moment,  jerks as his eyes fly to hers. She smiles at him gently, tugging lightly at his cock. She watches his length disappear and reappear from her fist as her hand slides up and down. He watched her hand on him as the light from the nearby candle makes the oil glisten.

She moves her other hand to touch his buttocks lightly, making her intentions clear. James spreads his legs slightly. He looks back at her but doesn't say anything. She knows this is the only confirmation she’ll be able to get out of him tonight, so she proceeds.

She circles James' hole, watching him closely. Gentle strokes. As her middle finger teases his rim, her other hand starts to work in slow circular motions over his cock. She feels him relax under her touch.

Miranda pushes a finger into him. When she does it again, a whimper slips past his lips and she can feel his body tense up again.

 

She doesn’t know Flint’s mind. But years ago she used to know McGraw’s.  
Their demons are the same.

 

She starts to talk as she continues to stroke him.

 

"Thomas loved this. When we were first married we spent a month at Thomas’ brother's summer residence in the South before we settled in London.” She keeps a steady rhythm.

 

“Some of the family were staying there as well and even though we both knew our marriage was one of the mind and not the body, we came to share a bedroom for appearances’ sake.”

 

She pauses, reaches for more oil and adds a second finger. James lets out a short groan but he doesn't seem to mind.

 

"Like most men, he woke up hard most mornings. One time, feeling especially adventurous, I decided to tease him a little,” she smiles at the memory.  
  
“Soon enough he was shaking under my touch and I wasn’t able to keep my hands to myself.  
He told me what he enjoyed, how he wanted to be touched and where he wanted to be stroked. That morning I used my fingers on him for the first time.”

 

Remembering the details of the story she’s telling now, she moves her fingers deeper, seeking a spot she knows will bring James over the edge.  
  
“I touched him like I’m touching you now. He opened up so beautifully and wouldn't stop moaning until he spilt over his own stomach."

 

She looks up at James. There is no anger in his face anymore, only desperation and want.

 _Flint is gone,_ she thinks.

  
She runs her thumb over the slit just to be sure. James lets out a delicious whimper she recognizes.

_McGraw._

 

"It became less frequent once we were settled in London. He had his arrangements, I had mine.”

 

She pushes her finger against the tiny nub deep inside James and suddenly James can't keep still.

 

“The last time I touched him like this was a week after he met you.

I worked him open after one of your conversations about Nassau and he came with your name on his tongue”

 

James shudders and spills with a cry. Miranda guides him through the pleasure. When he’s finished, she kisses a spot on his belly just above his right hip bone and wipes her hand on the sheets. She lies down next to him.

Suddenly, her limbs are back to feeling like goo and she feels sleepy. James' breathing gets quieter.

She is about to turn over to blow out the candle when she hears a barely audible sob.

 

Miranda feels a pang of guilt in her heart.

 

_What was she thinking? She has hurt him._

_All she wanted was to let him have this one thing to help him over the edge to a short-lived peace of mind but peace of mind nonetheless. And she has hurt him._

 

“Shhh,” she settles next to him and pulls him closer by his wide shoulders.

She can feel the wetness from his tears as he rests his cheek on her breast.

She tucks his head under her chin.

 

"I'm here, darling. I've got you", she tells him, her voice soft.

 

James’ body shakes with quiet sobs. She lets him cry as her tumb strokes the soft flesh near his armpit.

  
“I’m sorry”, he apologizes without looking at her.

 

She knows what he's apologizing for, it’s something she is sorry for, too - not being enough.

  
“So am I”, she whispers against his forehead and pulls him closer.

 

Miranda reaches to stroke his hair to comfort him. Her hand moves through James' ginger mane the same way it used to move through Thomas' golden hair whenever he fell asleep reading in her lap.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are LOVE and comments make my existence bearable <3


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